


your mask may as well be cellophane if you're trying to hide from me

by AppleJuiz



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Foggy Dates Daredevil, Light Angst, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Miscommunication, Not Season 2 Complaint, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7295809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Hey Karen,” he whispers, because Matt is in the other room, and he doesn't really want to share this with Matt yet. So many years of pining over Matt and it still feels like he's cheating ever time he's interested in someone else. “Can I ask you something a little… weird?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“Sure,” Karen says, sitting up a little straighter. “Is something wrong?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>“No, no, nothing wrong,” he assures her. “Just… When you got rescued by the man in the mask, did he... flirt with you?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which the Devil of Hell's Kitchen gets a boyfriend and Foggy is not an idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your mask may as well be cellophane if you're trying to hide from me

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from or what it is, but I hope you enjoy it! Also I seem to have a thing about Matt and Foggy watching legal movies so... apologies.

The first time Foggy meets Daredevil, he's covered in garbage and about to pee himself. 

It's not his first time being mugged, but it's just as terrifying as ever. He's three blocks from his apartment and he actually has not a single bit of cash on him which is not a surprise these days, but he doubts the guy with the gun pressed against his back is going to appreciate a detailed explanation of his financial situation. 

“Look, man, I don't want any trouble,” he hisses, throwing his hands in the air, trying not to shake. 

“Just give me your money,” the guy spits, and Foggy knows he has to break the news very carefully. 

“I would, dude, I really want to, but I actually don't even have a wallet on me,” Foggy explains, which doesn't go over well, not at all, because suddenly the gun is pressed to the back of his head. 

“You think this is a joke!” the guy protests. 

“Okay, okay, no need to do anything rash,” he stammers, racking his brain for a way out. He's quick on his feet, there's a reason why he's a lawyer, but all he's thinking right now is he probably has a half empty pack of gum somewhere in this jacket and maybe the mugger won't be all that inclined to kill him if he gets some mint chocolate chip flavored bubble gum. 

And that's when a blur of black spandex drops from the heavens. 

“What the-?” the mugger gasps before getting thrown to the ground by his jacket. 

“Crap!” Foggy swears, jumping out of the way and tumbling to the ground… into an oddly damp trash bag. Which gross, but he thinks he'll just stay here forever and play dead to be safe. 

There's the sound of a scuffle and then footsteps slapping against the floor of the alley.  Foggy lets out a groan and doesn't get up. A hand grabs his elbow, pulling him up out of the trash and up to his feet. 

He's dimly aware that his heart is beating way too fast and he's probably going into cardiac arrest, but he's not sure why because he's fine, the muggers gone, it's just him and this masked vigilante who's still holding onto his arm and looks mildly concerned. Rationally there's no reason to panic but here he is, chest heaving, panicking a lot. 

“-okay.  Hey, hey, can you hear me?” the masked man is saying, voice deep and gravelly yet still sounding genuinely worried. “You're okay. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

Foggy nods, even though he was a smidge panicked about being alone in an alleyway with Hell’s Kitchen’s very own vigilante. But you know Karen seems to trust the guy and Matt also seemed to admire his work so he can't be too bad. And his hands are on Foggy’s shoulders, thumbs moving in circles against his jacket. 

“Wow… Alright. I'm- I'm okay… Thanks to you by the way, so… thanks,” Foggy stammers. The mask covers the top of the guy’s face, and Foggy wants to ask how he sees through that thing, but either way he can feel the weight of the guy’s gaze and it sends shivers down Foggy's back. 

“No need to thank me,” the guy replies gruffly. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Foggy huffs, leaning his head back against the wall.  “It’s really a new low when you can't even pay a mugger.”

“Unemployed?” the man asks, not like a question but not like a statement either, mostly like a… lie. 

“Start up,” Foggy corrects. “Law firm. Hey, if you ever get busted for the whole rooftop escapades thing, Nelson and Murdock would be honored to represent you. I'll even throw in a discount for saving my hide.”

“How generous. So who am I talking to, Nelson or Murdock?”

“Nelson comma Foggy. Nice to meet you Man comma Masked.” That manages to startle a laugh of out of the guy which sounds oddly familiar, but ends quick enough that Foggy can't really analyze it too much. 

“And Murdock?”

“Oh, you probably wouldn't have had to come rescue Murdock. He could've handed some beautiful fancy wallet to the poor kid and been on his merry way.  Maybe he'd even lecture the guy about justice and sin until he turned over his life of crime for a prosperous future in, I don't know, data management.”

“Oh,” the man says, like he's confused. “Why’s that?” Like he genuinely want to know. 

“Well, let's just say there's a reason Murdock got the highest score in speech and debate class in law school.”

“No, uh, the money thing.” Which is strange to ask about, but hey, he's talking to a grown man in black pajamas in a deserted alleyway, so yeah, strange. Also he almost died and is probably still in shock, so yeah, oddly intimate conversations about his financial situation. 

“It's a little complicated. We're not the best off, new firm and all, but… so, Murdock is blind and also a guilt ridden idiot and Braille printers and screen readers aren't cheap. Of course if I put them on the budget, someone gets very upset that we're spending so much money on things that he considers unnecessary but, you know, very much are necessary. So I bought them on the side, off the books, very shady, but he hasn't really noticed, so it's great.  And in the meantime, I don't have on hand cash, or a wallet, or heating.”

“That- That's really kind of you.”  There's a strange pained sound in the guy’s voice which… right, he's standing here talking about the really boring aspects of his really boring day job to a masked vigilante who probably has a city to save. 

“Uh, thanks,” he says, smiling weakly at the guy.  “Sorry, I don't know why I just literally told you my life story. You probably have some other mugger to stop, some little old lady to help across the street.”

The masked man jolts, like he was caught sleeping on the job. His hands are still on Foggy's shoulders, calming presences, holding him against the wall, rising with every breath he takes. He pulls them back, just barely and goes oddly still for a second, head tilted like he's pay attention to something Foggy can't hear. 

“You can keep talking,” the man says softly after a moment, coming back to the present. “It's a quiet night.”  He steps closer to Foggy, which is pretty close, enough that their chests are almost brushing and Foggy's heart jumps a bit at the warmth and the intimacy. He can feel the man's breath on his face, brushing against his cheek, soft and sweet. “I like listening to you speak.”  

Matt said something similar once, about his voice being soothing to listen to, but not in this tone, this gentle almost-purr. It's not flirtatious or sexual, it's quiet, intimate, genuine. Like this man knows everything about Foggy, every secret, every button to push. It makes him blush, just like when Matt said it before. 

“Well, I've been told I'm pretty good at speaking too much about too little,” Foggy offers. It earns him a pleased smile, and Foggy feels like he's dying again. Heart attack at 28. Cause of death: cute vigilante smile in a back alley three blocks from his apartment. 

“Not too anything,” the man whispers, and Foggy shivers in the best way. “Just right.”

“T-thanks,” he stammers, and takes a second staring at the ground to get his heart under control. “Is this a vigilante thing? Talking with rescuees at the scene of the crime when there's nothing better to punch?”

“I don't know. Never done this before. And I've never met another superhero so I'm not sure what the handbook says.”

“That sucks,” Foggy says emphatically. “All that spandex and you don't even get to meet Captain America.”

“It's a true struggle,” he deadpans, but breaks into another grin in seconds. 

“At least your ass looks amazing,” Foggy sighs, and then kinda freezes. Because sure the guy’s a little up close and personal and saying a lot of sweet things but that doesn't necessarily mean he’s interested. Or not straight. 

“Oh.”

“By which I mean, oh my God, I was almost shot and am in a state of shock and therefore cannot be held responsible for any unfortunate things that might come out of my mouth,” Foggy corrects quickly. The man doesn't seemed too distressed, just kinda pleased. 

“Too bad. Because you know, if you weren't in a state of shock, I would have thanked you heavily for the compliment and probably noted that while I'm very much enjoying the freshly pressed cotton suit, I'm sure your ass would also be a sight in spandex.”

Foggy breaks out into a laugh so high pitched and braying he's probably killed every pigeon in a three block radius. This is not how he thought his night would be going. 

“But since that's the case,” the man continues. “Since you're in such a state of shock, it seems imperative that I walk you home, Mr. Nelson.”

“Foggy,” he corrects, second nature. 

“Foggy,” the man repeats, soft and reverential. Yup, he's storing that one in his brain for a long long time. “So… Can I offer you a personal body guarding service back to your apartment?”

“Well, as long as you don't have anything better to do,” Foggy decides, mouth bone dry, swaying on his feet just a little. 

“I can make time for this,” the man insists, and Foggy nods, agreeing to this and basically everything else ever. The man smiles and takes a regretful step back.

But he loops his arm through Foggy's and pulls him away from the wall, towards the exit of the alley. Foggy's a little shaky on his feet still, more rattled than he anticipated, but the man in the mask supports some of his weight when he stumbles and guides him carefully towards the streets. 

He's unaware of how they get to his apartment, just that the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen remains a consistent, welcomed and warm presence by his side. And when they reach his building, the man tucks his hair behind his ear and wishes him a good night. They both sway forward, just a little, and Foggy thinks, surely they won't kiss, they just met. 

And the next second, the man is on the roof of a building across the street, off into the night. 

“Goodnight,” Foggy whispers to himself. “Don't let the bad guys bite.”

 

Alright, alright, look, Matt’s not an idiot. 

He knows it's beyond stupid to even be near Foggy when he's in the suit. They've been friends for nearly a decade, they spend every day together. It's a certified miracle that Foggy didn't recognize him just from the bottom half of his face. Not to mention his voice, even if he did lower it. He chalks it up to the shock and calls it a night. 

He still shouldn't have done it. 

But God it was intoxicating. Standing so close to Foggy and hearing his heart skip and race in response, feeling his own pulse respond in kind to every word that came out of his mouth, knowing it was Foggy but Foggy not knowing it was him. 

It's been years since Foggy’s heart raced like that around him. At least for those reasons. So he'd missed it. He wasn't hurting Foggy, just talking to him, a little light flirting. 

And if eventually, they wanted to do more than talk, the masked vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen didn't have a best friend to lose.

Except no, that was a terrible idea. Foggy would find leaving school and then what? Everything would blow up in his face. Not to mention tricking Foggy like that, lying to Foggy like that- No, he couldn't. 

He’d put this whole incident behind him. Foggy and the mask would stay very far apart as far as Matt was concerned. 

And if he decided to pay for Foggy’s every meal for the next month, it isn't because he heard anything about extra expenses around the office. He's just being a good friend. 

 

It feels weird just thinking about asking, but it's been eating Foggy up inside. He'd gotten rescued from a mugging and he and the guy, the vigilante that saved him, definitely flirted. He couldn't sleep it was eating him up. 

He downs the last of his third excruciatingly bitter coffee and walks out of his office. 

“Hey Karen,” he whispers, because Matt is in the other room, and he doesn't really want to share this with Matt yet. So many years of pining over Matt and it still feels like he's cheating ever time he's interested in someone else. “Can I ask you something a little… weird?”

“Sure,” Karen says, sitting up a little straighter. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing wrong,” he assures her. “Just… You got rescued by the man in the mask.”

Karen nods, like it was a question. 

“Did he… say anything that seemed unusual after he saved your life?” he asks. 

“Um… No, not that I can think of. We didn't talk that much at all actually. Why? Did something happen?”

“No, I was just… curious, you know. What type of guy he is,” Foggy explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “So he didn't like flirt with you?”

“Nope,” she says, eyes narrowing. 

“Did he, uh, walk you home?” 

Karen shakes her head, eyes narrowing. “No, are you sure you didn't-?”

“Just trying to make sense of it all. Masked vigilante. What's his motivation? What's his code of ethics? Important stuff to consider.”

“I guess,” Karen agrees slowly, still looking suspicious. 

“Exactly. Alright, thanks Karen,” he says and sprints back to his office before Matt comes in and makes everything a million times more awkward. 

He plops down in his office chair and stares up at the ceiling like he did for hours last night. 

So he doesn't flirt with everyone. He doesn't flirt with Karen. But he flirts with Foggy. 

Holy shit. 

 

Foggy’s not really surprised when he gets dragged into the alley.  He knew starting a firm with Matt Murdock, guardian of justice, protector of the innocent and downtrodden, would definitely mean pissing the wrong people off to do some good. 

He's not sure what he did to anger the three burly men who yank him off the street, but he knows this isn't another mugging. He gets slammed into the wall of one of the buildings, held slightly off the ground by the collar of his shirt. The guys surrounding him are huge and scowling. 

Amazingly, Foggy doesn't feel that scared.

It's been weeks since his encounter with the man in the mask, but he knows he's seen shadows following him home sometimes, a black clad figure on the roof across from his building. He’s pretty sure he has a new guardian angel, and it's a bit of a risk, especially with a knife in his face, but he's fairly certain these guys are in for a hell of a fight.

“Hey fellas. What can I do you for?” Foggy chokes out, trying to look up, see if the man is going to show up again or if he really is toast. 

“Franklin Nelson?” One of the guys, Baldy, asks in a growl. 

“That depends, who's asking?” 

The knife gets buried in the wall, inches from his ear. He swallows hard. Now would be an excellent time for a vigilante to show up. 

“Act smart again and the next one goes in your eye,” the guy holding him up threatens. 

“Well I have to use my Columbia law degree somehow,” he complains. “And my guess is you don't want me using it on the Hernandez case.”

There's a flash of light, a street lamp gleaming on metal, and a bite of pain across Foggy's right cheek. It's not deep, but it stings, and Foggy gasps, fear piling up in the pit of his stomach. 

“Listen smart ass,” Baldy hisses, and Foggy finds a hand around his throat, pushing him further up the wall. “You’re making my boss very unhappy. If you don't start cooperating, next time I'll skip the conversation and-”

Suddenly Foggy finds himself on the other side of the alley, separated from the three goons by a shield of black spandex. Foggy feels the urge to swoon, like Mary Jane or something.  _ I knew you would come rescue me, oh mysterious masked hero I met that one time.  _

He keeps his mouth shut, let's the masked man push him back and face other guys, shoulders tense, hands fisted. 

“How ‘bout I skip the conversation now?” The man growls and jumps forward. 

Foggy's never been one for violence, but he can't seem to look away. It's like a dance, and the masked man is winning, twirling, twisting, punching, kicking. He dodges knives and fists, throws punch after punch, uses any surface to his advantage, throwing himself into the fray and hitting and hitting until there's nothing left. All three guys are on the floor, slightly bloody and bruised, unconscious. 

And then the man is in front of him again, like déjà vu. His hand on Foggy's shoulder, a warm and comforting presence. He pulls off one of his gloves by the teeth and brings his bare hand up to cradle Foggy's jaw. His thumb runs along the cut on his cheek, the one Foggy stopped thinking about the second the man dropped down to rescue him, smearing blood across his cheek. 

“Sorry I'm late,” he whispers, scowling. Foggy grins, leaning into the touch. 

“Well, I've got all four limbs, both eyes, and everything else I need to function, so if say you showed up right on time,” he declares.  It doesn't seem to cheer the guy up. He pulls off his other glove, brings that hand to Foggy's face, and runs his fingers along his forehead, nose, cheek, jaw. Foggy manages to contain all noises but a breathy sigh. Which he’ll take. Everything else was just embarrassing. 

His hands slips down to his neck and shoulders, slow and methodical down his arms, across his torso, feather light and warm, checking for any other cuts or bruises. The scowl fades as he finishes his assessment, but his hands remain on Foggy's waist. 

“Find anything good?” He asks, because his brain and mouth hate him and are conspiring against him. 

“Oh, lots,” the man hums, pulling Foggy closer. He swallows hard again. “Just wish I had more time to look around.”

“Who says you don't?” Foggy asks, because he'll punch that person, he totally will. 

“Hmm, need to take care of these guys, make sure they don't come after you again,” he explains. “Should get you back to your apartment.”

Foggy sighs, because yeah, that's practical. They're surrounded by unconscious gangsters and should probably call the cops, fine.

“Well, thanks for dropping in,” Foggy says. “Again. I can throw in another discount on legal advice, though probably won't be long until it's just free.”

“You expect this to happen a lot?” The man asks, frowning. 

“Well, if every time I get attacked in an alley I get rescued and groped by a very athletic superhero in a form fitting onesie, I don't exactly see the incentive to not get attacked in an alley,” Foggy explains. The man hums in the back of his throat, leans forward until his mouth grazes the shell of Foggy's ear. 

“Guess I'll have to keep an eye on you then,” the man hisses, and Foggy barely bites back on a moan. 

“Yep, sounds like a good plan,” he agrees, gripping the man’s elbow so he doesn't collapse to the ground just like that. 

Somehow he ends up in from of his apartment building again, the masked man cupping his face, stroking his cheek, placing a chaste, soft, perfect kiss against the cut, before disappearing into the night again. 

“Fuck,” Foggy breathes, and digs his key out of his pocket. God, he can't wait til he gets mugged again. 

 

Only the next time Foggy doesn't get mugged or threatened, he gets kidnapped.  Apparently some lowlife saw the Man in the Mask getting close and personal with some lawyer and the wrong people drew a not so wrong conclusion. 

Matt’s on patrol, and he's listening to Foggy’s heartbeat track across the city like he does every night now. He’s never done anything but watch out for him, but he’s thought about it, going up to Foggy like this, pulling him in tight, run his hands along Foggy’s arms, and a million other things he can never do as Matt Murdock. 

He's listening to Foggy from five blocks away, debating again if tonight should be the night he drops down, unexpected, when suddenly his heart is racing and there's the sound of a car braking hard, the scuffle of Foggy’s shoes dragging across the pavement, a van door slamming. 

By the time Matt starts moving, the car is speeding off to God knows where. Despite all his other skills, Matt is still not faster than a moving vehicle, but he starts running anyway. He traces the car, honing in on Foggy’s heartbeat and racing along rooftops to keep up until the it fades off into the distance. 

He panics for a second when he can't hear Foggy anymore, grinding to a halt on top of an apartment building with a laundromat and choking on a desperate sob. But the car, from what he could tell, smelled familiar, a warehouse he'd passed before by the river, belonging to the Russians… maybe. The car seemed to be heading in the right direction, and why is he wasting time, standing around here when Foggy just got kidnapped.

He takes a deep breath, because being irrational won't help anyone. He can get to Foggy, he just needs to move fast. 

The city is awake with sounds and lights, sirens and screams and cries, and he aches like always to be able to do more, but when it comes down to it, there's no choice. 

He has to protect Foggy, no matter what, and this one night the city will have to go on without him. It might be the most selfish he's ever been. Of course excluding how he dragged Foggy into his life in the first place. 

The warehouse is the right one. He can tell the second he reaches it by the smell and by Foggy’s heartbeat, distant and panicked, but audible, just barely. 

He hears voices, gruff and posturing, senses two in the room with Foggy, five outside, scattered around the warehouse. 

He could take them in his sleep. 

He slips in through the roof, light on his toes, listening carefully. The men in the room are asking about him, he realizes, and he's not too surprised, but it still makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

“Your pansy boyfriend took out fifteen of our guys at the docks last week,” one growls, while Matt throws himself onto the closest target, clamping a hand on his mouth so he can track the conversation. “Even if you don't tell us who he is, I might just have to show him how unpleasant it is when people don't mind their own business.”

“Look, pal, I feel for you,” Foggy says, calmly, like his heart is racing a mile a minute. “Must be hard being a mobster, but I honestly can't help you, I've only met the guy twice, by total accident.”

Matt has two of the guards on the floor now, unmoving, but alive. He wishes he didn't have to be so quiet because, God, he wants to hit something hard and repeatedly. But Foggy’s safety is more important that his own rage. 

“Cut the crap, Nelson.” There's a muffled thud and Foggy lets out a pained gasp. If Matt chokes the next guard a little too hard, it's not exactly his fault. “We know you’re close to that masked freak. Now you can either tell me who he is, and I'll go easy on you, or you can leave here with half the bones in your body broken and a message for your little ninja boyfriend.”

“I know just as much about the Man in the Mask as you do, okay?” Foggy spits. “He wears a ridiculous amount of spandex, is very good at kicking the crap out of assholes like you, has an amazing ass, and is definitely about to come in here and beat you to a pulp.”

He and Foggy have always been in sync, so of course he's feet away from the door when his idiot best friend makes that ridiculous threat. He's not even wrong, Matt is going to punch them until they stop moving, but he can also hear the sound of a crowbar being picked up, one of the interrogators getting ready to make the biggest mistake of their lives. 

Matt takes great pleasure in kicking the door down. And even greater pleasure in the sigh of relief it elicits from Foggy, whose heart seems to relax half a fraction. 

He's tied to a chair in the middle of the room, few spots on his face and arms that glow brighter, bruises, scent of coppery blood in the air, but not enough that means he's seriously injured, heat around his wrists and ankles that says the rope is a little too rough and a little too tight. 

Matt takes the most pleasure in making good on Foggy’s threat. 

He can hear Foggy wince when their bodies hit the ground, but doesn't say anything, not even when Matt gets in a few extra kicks that are really uncalled for. 

There's more blood in the air now, but Matt can tune it all out and focus on Foggy, whose heart is still pounding fast if not as scared as it was before. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, squeaks really, grinning weakly. “That would have been pretty embarrassing.”

He double checks that the two assholes are really out for the count and then strides over to Foggy.  He drops to his knees and reaches out, hands hovering for half a second, unsure and nervous, before they land on Foggy’s knees. Foggy's breath hitches, pulse jumps, but Matt can't play this game anymore because now it means danger and he can't put Foggy in danger. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking, hanging his head. Foggy makes a wounded, inquisitive noise, which Matt ignores, reaching around him to untie his hands. 

“It wasn't  _ your _ fault,” Foggy protests. 

“Yes, it was. Look, I shouldn't have… Acted that way around you. It was inappropriate first of all, and secondly, it put you in danger, and I'm sorry,” Matt says softly. 

“No need to apologize since I'm not complaining,” Foggy huffs, an edge in his voice that means a killer rebuttal or brilliant opening statement or some other perfect argument he's constructing in his head to get exactly what he wants. God, Matt loves him, but he can't do this. “And in case you didn't notice, you weren't the only one acting a certain way.”

Matt sighs, freeing his hands carefully and tugging them out from behind the chair. He rubs gently at the rope burn, frowning at the red marks that must stand out against Foggy’s soft skin. 

Foggy swallows nervously, seeming unsure for the first time all night. His right hand shifts up, cupping Matt’s jaw, fingers shaking minutely against his temple. 

“Are you gonna kiss it better like last time?” he asks, voice firm, not teasing, not arguing, not anything Matt has heard from Foggy before. It's a challenge, a dare. 

And God he shouldn't do this, but he may very well never get another chance to be this close to Foggy again. Besides, he's saying goodbye tonight, he's never doing this again, because it's not fair to Foggy and it puts him in danger. So it can't hurt to just…

He starts with the hand not on his face, drawing it up gently and pressing his mouth lightly to the rough, burning skin of his wrist. Foggy's pulse jumps in time with a barely audible gasp, like he wasn't expecting it. He places a series of short, close mouthed kisses to the inside of his wrist and then along the back of his hand. He turns into Foggy’s other hand, tilting his head up and pressing his lips to the rash on that hand. 

“Better?” he asks, pressing his forehead against Foggy’s knee. He hears him nod, swallow hard. His hand cards through the tiny bit of hair exposed on the back of Matt’s neck, and his heart is racing but not because he's scared or nervous. 

“Thank you,” Foggy whispers, and Matt bends down, unknotting the rope around his ankles. There's no rash or bruise, seems the hem of his pants protected him, so Matt just rubs his thumb along his ankle bone. He moves up from there, stopping along the way to pepper kiss against the bruise on his knee, the thin cut on his side, the shallow stab wound on his shoulder. 

He cups Foggy's face in his hands, feels Foggy’s eyes bearing into him, wide and unyielding. There's a bruise on his cheek that Matt lingers on, sliding his hand back to tangle in Foggy’s hair.  Another one on his temple that Matt shifts up to, letting his mouth drag across Foggy’s face. 

“One more,” Foggy announces, voice shaking for the first time all night.  Matt knows exactly where it is. He pushes back a little, memorizing the outline of Foggy’s face from so close. He runs his thumb lightly along Foggy’s lower lip, skimming over the small cut near the center. 

He sways forward, resting his forehead against Foggy’s. “I shouldn't,” he breathes, but he doesn't pull back. 

“I’d like to disagree. Heavily,” Foggy replies. “Unless you don't want to-”

“No, I do,” he assures him. Foggy hums thoughtfully, and leans in the rest of the way, pressing their lips together. Matt whimpers in the back of his throat and pulls him closer, off the chair and into Matt’s lap. Foggy’s breath hitches, but his arms wrap around Matt’s neck.

They're plastered together, closer than Matt has ever gotten to Foggy before. He can feel every breath, every beat of his heart, every individual part of Foggy all put together and right up against him. 

He licks at the cut on Foggy’s lower lip, wanting to erase it, wanting to erase every scrape and bruise and cut. Foggy doesn't understand the sentiment, but suddenly his lips are parting against Matt's and they're making out in earnest, hot and heavy and desperate. 

He runs his hand up and down Foggy’s back almost a million times, proving to himself that he's solid and there and they're kissing like he's dreamed about for the past four years. The rest of the world, all the noises and smells, they all fade away, until all he can focus on is Foggy, Foggy, Foggy. It's like heaven, like somehow he did enough to deserve this pure bliss, even for a second. Everything is fuzzy and light and perfect. 

And Matt soaks it up for as long as he can and then pulls away.

“B-Better?” he asks. His heart is racing, but it matches Foggy’s. 

“Yeah,” Foggy says, nodding. “Really, really better. The absolute best.”

Matt nods, brings his hand up to rest on Foggy’s cheek one last time. 

“We need to go,” he says, because he can hear someone downstairs stirring. No matter how good it feels, the world doesn't just consist of him and Foggy. “It's not safe here.” 

“Okay,” Foggy agrees, and Matt stands, lifting Foggy to his feet in a single movement. He's a little instead on his feet, leaning into Matt’s chest. “How about next time we just meet up at my apartment? I love intimate moments in an abandoned warehouse next to our unconscious enemies as much as the next guy or gal, but, you know, couches have yet to become overrated.”

Matt wants to protest, feels it building on the tip of his tongue, because this is so wrong, on many different equally wrong and horrible levels. But he can't choke it out, can't tell Foggy this needs to stop. He's weak and selfish and he's going to get everyone he cares about hurt. It's a mantra that's repeated in his head since Stick walked out of his life, but this time it's so true and it stings. 

“Look, from what I can tell, people already think we're a thing, so this probably isn't the last time I get snatched off the street ala superhero’s girlfriend cliche. I feel like I should at least get to reap the benefits of it,” Foggy continues, letting Matt loop and arm around his waist and help him stagger out of the room. 

“I- You know, you make some good points,” Matt says, instead of all of the protests he should be making. 

“Perfect. You free Friday night?”

“Well, I've got a drug cartel to break up at 9:30 but after that my schedule's pretty clear.”

Foggy laughs. 

 

So he's 95% certain it's Matt. Maybe even a little more than 95, maybe 98.4%. 

He knows Matt, his voice, his smile, his frown. He's pretty damn familiar with the bottom half of his face after staring at it for the past decade. In fact, he's not sure why he didn't realize it was Matt earlier. Except he's pretty sure he knew all along that it was Matt, because he wouldn't flirt with just any masked vigilante.

And that's another thing. Point Two on his list of Proof That Matt Murdock is in Fact the Crazy Ninja Vigliante of Hell’s Kitchen. No random spandex-clad superhero would get that friendly with some civilian they met a few weeks ago. Being tied to a chair and smacked around was distinctly Not Fun, but almost,  _ almost, _ worth it for the way Matt untied him and… Well, everything else. 

But that had to be Matt. No random vigilante would care that much, even one with a crush. Two weeks wasn't long enough to build up that kinda tender. That was the voice and the touch of a man taking care of someone he's loved for years. 

Which… When the hell did that happen? Point against Matt being Crazy Ninja Vigilante, because for years Foggy had pined and pined and absolutely nothing. Matt didn't love him. But for some reason he made out with him while wearing a Halloween ninja costume and kneeling on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. 

Moving onto Point Three, because as soon as he starting thinking about doing that with Matt his brain turns off for a while and becomes a useless pile of mush in his skull. He got up close and personal with that mask and can confirm that despite his original theories, it’s not mesh, it doesn't have really tiny eye holes. There's no way of seeing out of it, it's solid black cloth. Whoever’s wearing can't see anything. 

Or doesn't need to see anything, which… Alright, there are other blind people in Hell’s Kitchen. Obviously. 

But Matt’s face and voice, the flirting and the touching and the kisses (albeit out of nowhere makes more sense to be coming from Matt than some stranger he met days ago), and he's blind. Foggy's not a detective, but he's also not an idiot.

Matt is a masked vigilante. 

But how? He is blind, and even if he was faking, he can't see out of the mask. 

And also WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK? Matt is a goddamn vigilante. On the news almost every night, the talk of the town, an almost certified superhero, beating on criminals every night, and Foggy is not informed.

He's angry. Really, really angry, pacing back and forth in his apartment, wondering how much of his friendship with Matt has been a lie. 

Matt can beat the crap out of people. Matt never really needed any help because he was blind, evidently not.  Matt didn't want to live alone to be independent (well, maybe). Matt didn't need rooftop access because he liked going out for fresh air. Matt didn't pick up his phone then because he was probably beating up criminals. Matt didn't walk into a door, he got punched in the face. Matt didn't miss work because of a cold, but probably because he couldn't walk. 

Matt didn't sound sore and exhausted because of some supermodel girl, but because he'd been up all night patrolling the city in a fucking mask. 

He half wants to run over to Matt's apartment right now and demand answers for a million other questions that turn in his brain. He throws himself down on the couch instead, burying his face in his hands. 

So Matt's been lying to him. But it's not like Foggy didn't hide something pretty big from Matt as well. He'll ignore the fact that Matt apparently has been hiding the same thing on top of everything else, mostly because he's too stunned to even start to believe that Matt has been harboring a crush on him for years. 

Matt is his best friend. If he's lying he must have a reason, and maybe he won't lie forever, maybe he's been waiting for the right time to tell Foggy. Maybe he's going through a midlife crisis and living out all his wildest fantasies under an alter ego (in which case, does Foggy really want to ask and maybe disrupt everything?)

Does Foggy even really want to know Matt’s reasoning? Maybe Matt only likes him when he's in the suit? Maybe Matt doesn’t want to  _ be _ with Foggy, but just wants to try things out from a distance? Maybe bringing it up will ruin everything and lose him Matt and the Man in the Mask in one clumsy swoop?

Maybe waiting for Matt to come to him is a good idea. 

And if running around in spandex and punching bad people and kissing Foggy is something that makes Matt happy, who is Foggy to complain?

 

Foggy comes into the office the next morning humming. Matt can hear him from a block away, he's that vibrantly happy. It makes something in Matt's chest swell.

“Good morning,” Foggy calls out, walking over to the coffee machine with a literal bounce in his step.

“Have a good night?” Matt asks, leaning against the doorway of his office. Foggy laughs. 

“You can say that again, buddy,” he says, walking over and pressing an extra cup of coffee into Matt’s hand. Matt smiles, feeling incredibly pleased until he reminds himself that no, lying to Foggy is so, so wrong especially about this. “How was your night?”

“Kinda rough,” he explains, leaning his head against the wall. “But it picked up.”

“Hmm, same here,” Foggy says, bumping their shoulders together. He sighs contently and takes a deep swig of the coffee. 

It’s calm and quiet. The city isn't quiet but it's at peace, if only for a second. Foggy by his side, the scent of bitter coffee in the air. He wants to trap this moment in a bottle and never leave. 

“Hey Matt,” Foggy says softly, a little more somber. 

“Yeah?” 

Foggy sighs. “Things have been pretty hectic lately, but you know you can still tell me anything, right?”

Matt's breath gets caught in his throat and for a horrible second he's certain that Foggy  _ knows _ . But he's not angry, he's not shouting, his heart is steady and calm. There's no way…

“Yeah,” he responds, proud when it's not a squeak. “Same for you. Any reason you, uh, are asking?”

“You said you had a rough night,” Foggy explains. “I’m always only a phone call away, you know, for the future. And don't ever think you can't tell me something, okay Matty?”

Matt’s not sure where this is coming from, what Foggy is thinking, but he's not lying, which makes a lot of the unease in Matt's chest settle. 

Foggy also doesn't know what he's promising. But it's a nice sentiment regardless. 

“Thanks, Fog,” he says, hanging his head. Accepting kindness or support or friendship… pretty much anything from other people is never easy for Matt. He spent so long thinking all human connection was a weakness, it's a miracle he has a single friend. 

Which means he cannot lose Foggy, no matter what. Foggy is pretty much all he has. 

Foggy sighs again, reaches over to squeeze Matt’s shoulder, and downs the rest of his coffee. 

“Alright, time to get to work,” he announces, pushing off the wall and striding over to his desk. Matt nods and turns back into his own office. 

Foggy’s right. They have a lot of work to do, and they should really get started. And if Matt can't help but grin just a little for the rest of the day, well, Foggy doesn't seem to mind. 

 

On Friday, Matt can barely sit still.  Foggy's over at his own desk, flipping through a case folder they just got, and he's still humming tunelessly like he has been for the past three days. 

Every time Matt sees him (well, not sees him) he feels the urge to confirm Foggy hasn't changed his mind, but stops himself, because Foggy is not going on a date with him, he has a date with the Man in the Mask.  And every time Matt wants to tell him the truth, because he's starting to get jealous of himself. He wants Foggy to be that excited for a date with him, not… him. 

Matt's in big trouble. 

He makes it through the day at the office without blurting out anything ill advised, and he slips into his suit, feeling an odd mix of relief and anger. He's really looking forward to punching something. 

Unfortunately the cartel punches back. Nothing bad enough that he thinks he should call Claire, but some cuts that will probably scar and a few bruises scattered along his sides that he'll have to come up with a really good excuse for in the office tomorrow. 

He aches deep in his bones, not just because of the injuries, because he's still not making a dent in the cesspool that is Hell’s Kitchen’s criminal underground.  Fisk is only one problem, and he can't even seem to make progress with that. Sometimes he thinks he'll never be able to stop, there will never be a true end to the chaos and pain infecting the city, he'll keep going out every night making no progress and then he'll die and be able to do nothing at all. 

He finds himself outside Foggy's building without even knowing how he got there. He's not sure what time it is, but he can hear Foggy in the apartment, bustling about with something that smells like the Thai place Matt loves. He's still humming and Matt can feel his smile from here. 

He told himself that he wasn't going to do this earlier this morning when Foggy was complimenting Karen’s coffee making skills even though they all know the coffee tastes disgusting no matter who makes it.  

The Man in the Mask wouldn't show up. Foggy would be upset but he'd also be safe and Matt wouldn't have to lie to him. Then Matt as Matt could be a supportive friend, and maybe ask Foggy out after an appropriate amount of time had passed. Matt as the Man in the Mask could put Fisk behind bars and make sure he stayed there. And somewhere along the line, he'd figure out how to explain everything to Foggy with a killer reason for why his best friend should not hate him and leave him for lying, breaking the law, being in love with him, and miscellaneous other reasons. 

Matt crawls up the fire escape to Foggy’s window, because that is a very uncertain and unpredictable plan.  He'd rather enjoy what he has with Foggy for as long as he can. 

Foggy doesn't even flinch when he knocks on the window, just turns to him with a grin and walks over to push the glass open. Matt tumbles inside, a little heavy on his feet and still sore from the cartel, and closes the window behind him. 

“Hi,” Foggy says, inches away. And that's all Matt lets him say before dragging him closer and kissing him fiercely.

It's not a proud moment, but Matt has no self control tonight. He's been forced to watch Foggy all week knowing he put that smile there, knowing what it felt like to kiss Foggy, knowing what Foggy’s skin tasted like under his mouth and he couldn't do anything about it. 

Like this he can. 

Foggy groans in surprise, but immediately and enthusiastically reciprocates, hand sliding up to cup Matt's cheeks, soft and gentle against his skin. 

“Hello,” Foggy repeats, breathless, pressing his nose into Matt’s. “Nice of you to drop by.”

“Sorry,” he says in response, grinning sheepishly. “It's been a rough night.”  Amazingly, Foggy smiles at that, thumbs stroking across Matt's jaw. 

“Well you came to the right place then, friend,” Foggy says, waving one hand at his living room grandiosely. “We have Thai food from one of the best eateries this side of 42nd Street, and a potentially boring legal drama to watch.”

Matt kisses Foggy again, just ‘cause he can, and because Foggy always seems to know exactly what Matt needs before Matt even knows himself. Sometimes without even knowing it’s Matt at all.

“That sounds perfect,” he says and lets Foggy lead him to the couch. He’s handed a plate and a fork and sits down on the couch, his favorite couch because it’s soft and bouncy and always smells like Foggy.  He sinks into the pillows, balances his food on his knees as he pulls off his gloves and then his shoes.  Foggy busies himself with the remotes, turning on the movie before he grabs his own food and sits.  And Matt is jarred back to the present, because Foggy doesn’t just plop down on the couch like it’s any old movie night.  No, Foggy sits pressed up against him, head on his shoulder, leg hooked under Matt’s, and cuddles in close.  

Because he’s on a date.  Not with Matt.  And not on a date with Matt.

“You alright?” Foggy asks, like he can tell Matt just woke up from his temporary daydream and remembered that he was lying to Foggy about everything.  Matt nods shakily, and turns towards the TV.

“What movie are we watching?” he asks, a weak diversion, but one that Foggy accepts none the less.

“It’s my friend’s favorite, kinda a boring classic,  _ Twelve Angry Men _ ,” Foggy answers, voice hushed as the movie starts.  Matt feels like he’s going to cry.  This is  _ his _ favorite movie, has been ever since he watched it with Foggy in law school, curled up in their dorm, listening to the back and forth debates, having one of their own after getting a little buzzed and waking up the next morning in a slightly hungover pile of limbs in Foggy’s bed.  

This is his perfect date, with his best friend, with the love of his life, with his favorite food, and his favorite movie, and his favorite person.  And it’s not even his, just another part of his life that the mask takes from him.  

“I think I’ve heard of it before,” Matt croaks out, filling his mouth with food to block any other words or noises from bursting out.  

“It’s pretty interesting, kinda serious.  Not really first date material, but I thought it’d be fun,” Foggy says, burying his nose in Matt’s neck.  

“I love it,” Matt confesses, voice breaking despite his attempt to clamp down on every emotion running through him.  Foggy takes in a sharp breath, exhales on a smile, and hides it in a bite of rice.  

“I’m glad,” he says, and they fall quiet as the movie starts. 

Matt lets himself pretend again, because it's the only way he can enjoy this movie. He finishes his food quickly, because he really was hungry even if he didn't notice. He drops the plate on the coffee table like he's done a million times in this living room. Only this time, when he settles back into the couch, he stretches his arm around Foggy’s shoulder and pulls him into Matt's side. 

Foggy lets out a contented sigh, leaning his head back against Matt's chest and reaching for his hand.  The rest of the world stops, just like it did in the warehouse. Matt can still hear the siblings arguing three buildings over and the kids pretending to sleep two floors down, but it all becomes fuzzy and faded until all he can focus on is Foggy and the movie.

“I, uh… Thank you,” he whispers, kissing Foggy's temple. “I really needed this.”

“Hey, no problem,” Foggy says, wrapping his arms around Matt's waist. “And you know, anytime.”

Matt never wants to leave, and he knows no matter what he tries to tell himself he's not going to be able to walk away. 

 

Dating a superhero is not what Foggy expected, because it's so much like dating Matt Murdock. And dating Matt Murdock has more masks than he expected. 

But other than that, he's essentially dating his best friend, which is great. Only he's dating his best friend’s alter ego, which is complicated. Not because he has to keep the two separate in his head, since he's literally continued a conversation about a case with Matt when he comes over for dinner in the mask and Matt. Doesn't. Even. Notice. 

Matt comes over almost every night, either as his vigilante boyfriend or just regular Matt Murdock, but that doesn't change anything. They curl up on the couch with some form of takeout and a movie or a TV show. (Literally Matt doesn't even notice when they continue watching a show on Netflix that he started the night before with the Mask. God, Foggy hopes he's more attentive when he's fighting criminals.)  The only thing he can't do when Matt's Matt is make out, which bummer, and no PDA in the offices which is probably for the best. 

But other than that it's basically like dating Matt, which he loves. 

So sometimes Matt shows up bleeding or bruised and Foggy patches him up.  But he knows that Matt is safe, and every time he tells Karen some lie about bumping into a door, he knows the truth. Matt doesn't lie to him anymore, excluding the super huge thing he is hiding, but as the Mask and as Matt he tells the truth about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's conflicted about. 

So Foggy doesn't bring up the times Matt slips up, and Matt tells him the truth, and they get to spend time together like they haven't in years.  It's not ideal but Foggy’s willing to make do with what he has because it's Matt.  He loves Matt, and the fact that he gets this at all is a miracle so he’ll take it with all its complications. He’ll wait for Matt to tell him the truth or wait for everything to blow up in his face and hope he gets to keep his friend at the end of it. 

And then everything literally blows up. 

He's in the hospital on mild aesthetics, close to his first panic attack since college. His side hurts, the news is saying the Man in the Mask bombed the city, and Matt won't pick up his phone.

He can't breathe. He feels his eyes sting with tears. Matt won't pick up his phone. 

What if Matt gets caught? What if Matt gets killed? How will he even know if Matt's okay when he's stuck in this stupid hospital bed while Matt's out there doing God knows what? 

“Karen, can you try one more time?” he begs, fisting his hands in the scratchy sheets. The news is still going on and on about the bombs and the cops that were attacked, and Foggy is going to fall apart. 

“Sure, of course,” Karen agrees, frowning at him because she's worried about him, but he's too worried about Matt to be bothered. “But Foggy he hasn't picked up the past nine times-”

“Just please, Karen,” he says. She nods shakily and picks up her phone again, which rings and rings and gets sent to an answering machine again.  

“Goddamnit,” he hisses, and if he could move at all he'd bang his head against the wall.  The news is still talking about injuries and casualties, and Foggy squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Do you want me to turn off the TV?” Karen asks, and Foggy almost says yes, but then shakes his head. The news will report if they catch Matt. Or if they find his body somewhere. God, Foggy isn't going to survive this. 

He finds himself wondering if this would be easier or harder if he didn't know. Probably worse, because Matt wouldn't be picking up his phone and Foggy wouldn't know that Matt could take care of himself. 

But maybe not, since he's still be here, calling his friend and not knowing if he was alive or hurt or bleeding out somewhere in the city. Maybe this is worse, knowing everyone in the city is angry at Matt for something he didn't do (because there's no way Matt did this), and there's nothing he can say or do to protect his friend. 

“I'm sure he's fine,” Karen says, but it's weak and she doesn't even know the half of it. “Matt's not helpless. He probably just doesn't have his phone. Or-or his phone might be dead. Maybe he's at your apartment right now. And they'll let you out of here in an hour or so and we can go and find him.”

Foggy nods, gritting his teeth for her sake and swallowing down the bile and panic. Matt can take care of himself. Matt is smart, if sometimes self destructive. 

“Yeah,” Foggy chokes out. “I'm sure he's fine.”

 

Karen wasn't wrong. The hospital lets him leave an hour and a half later and he makes sure Karen gets into a cab safely before running to Matt's apartment.  He was instructed to not exercise extraneously before he left, and by the time he reaches the apartment he understands why. He probably pulled some of his stitches but that's not a priority. 

He staggers up the stairs to Matt's apartment and doesn't even bother knocking like he usually would, just pulls out the spare key he’s had forever from the bottom of his wallet and unlocks the door. 

“Matt?” he calls, softly because Matt doesn't like loud noises. “Matty? You okay, pal?”

He has nightmares sometimes, of letting himself into his apartment or Matt's or their office and finding Matt, half dead and bleeding out slowly on the floor. They always start like this: his heart beats too fast, the room is dark, and his blood pounds in his ears.

“Matt?” He calls again, sending out a prayer to the universe as he steps into the apartment. He turns the corner into the living room, and Matt is suddenly in front of him, looking bruised and battered and exhausted, but alive and standing. 

“H-hey Foggy,” he stutters out, swaying a little on his feet. Foggy steps forwards and crushes him in an embrace, arms loose but firm around his waist. 

“I called you, like fifteen times, Matt,” he hisses. 

“F-foggy, are you bleeding?” he asks, trying to pull back. Foggy just clings to him tighter. 

“Pulled my stitches on the way over here,” he explains, shaking his head. “Are you okay?”

“Stitches?” Matt echoes weakly. “What happened?”

“Matt, are you okay?” Foggy repeats. Matt's breath hitches, his shoulders slump, and his face crumples. He pitches forward into Foggy’s hold, burying his head in the juncture between Foggy's shoulder and neck.  He's not crying, yet, just making pitiful little sniffling and whimpering noises. Foggy doesn't want to hurt him any further than he certainly is, but he squeezes Matt tight anyway, running his hand through Matt's hair soothingly. 

“N-not really,” he confesses, voice shaking. “I…” 

“It's okay, Matty. I've got you,” Foggy says, as Matt shakes against him. He wants to know what happened, who hurt him, why he was framed, how everything fell apart so quickly, but that means having to tell Matt that he knows which will spin off into a conversation he does not want to have tonight. So he thanks God for the fact that Matt is in his arms, safe and mostly sound and accepts that he'll just have to keep waiting for answers. “Come on, buddy, let's go sit down.”

Matt panics when Foggy tries to pull back, so he ends up having to shuffle them over to the sofa, an armful of Matt making things a little more difficult.  They manage to sit down and Matt somehow is able to snuggle in even closer. Matt's not crying, just shaking in Foggy's arm and clinging to his shirt and makes awful pained noises that break Foggy's heart. 

“God, Matt, I'm so sorry,” he breathes, over and over, rubbing his hand in circles over Matt's back. 

“Foggy?” Matt whimpers after a while. “D-do you- do you think he did it?”

“No,” Foggy replies immediately, pressing his mouth to Matt's hairline. “No, I don't think he did.”

Some of the tension seems to seep out of Matt's shoulders, and he lets out a long, broken sigh. And Foggy holds him close until he stops shaking and the sun comes up the next morning. 

 

Matt's pretty good at denial. Like he actually thought he'd be able to date Foggy as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen without giving himself away. 

He's 93% sure that Foggy knows. He hasn't been as careful as he should have with boundaries, and the night of the bombs he certainly gave himself away. Foggy has to know, but he doesn't say anything, so neither does Matt and he starts convincing himself that Foggy doesn't know at all. 

He waits a week before going back to Foggy's place in the mask. Like that'll somehow make him forget. 

Foggy doesn't even seem surprised, just throws the window open for him like every other time, no hesitations. He drops inside and kicks off his shoes like he always does, and greets Foggy with a kiss like he always does. Because if he pretends like nothing happened, maybe they won't have to talk. 

“Special movie tonight,” Foggy announces, walking over to the couch. “One of my absolute favorites. You ready for  _ Legally Blonde _ ?”

Matt nods and follows Foggy to the couch. He's acting like nothing changed, and Matt can't seem to accept it. 

“Have you, uh, seen the news lately?” he asks, plopping down on the couch. 

“Yeah, lots of crazy stuff going on in the world,” Foggy agrees. “Anything in particular you're referring to?”

“They've been calling me the, uh, Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh, are you angling for some compliments?” Foggy teases. “Congrats on your name upgrade. Much improvement from the Man in Black.”

“No, uh, you don't think they have a point?” 

Foggy laughs and reaches over to squeeze Matt's shoulder. “Not really. I think it's much more badass, but if there's truly a Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, it's the subway smell in the summer.”

“Yeah?”

Foggy shifts against the couch, turning towards Matt. “Yeah. You know, those times you saved me, you dropped down out of nowhere like from the heavens. And anytime I needed you, you were right there, like my own personal guardian angel. You're a little violent at times, maybe you screw up, but who doesn't. But I think you do more good than harm, or at least, you're trying to. And that's what counts.”

Matt can't stop the broken sob that bubbles up from his chest. He leans into Fogys hand, warm and comforting against his cheek. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, letting Foggy pull him into a hug and bringing his hands up around his waist. He pressed his mouth the Foggy's neck, kissing along his pulse point and across his jaw. “I love you.”

Foggy's heart skips a beat, but his hands don't leave Matt's back. “I love you, too,” he whispers, hands tightening into fists. “God, I… Yeah.”

For maybe the millionth time, Matt realizes he'll die without Foggy. He can't lose this. 

He should be honest. But if he tells Foggy the truth, it could all fall apart. And if he doesn't say anything, Foggy’ll find out some other way, if he doesn't know already, and it'll only be worse. 

Just one more night, he tells himself, lies to himself. He'll tell Foggy tomorrow, tomorrow morning. He just needs tonight. 

So yeah, denial. He should put it on his resume. 

 

Foggy knows Matt's been getting antsy. He's making no progress with Fisk as the Devil, and they're making no progress on half of their cases in the office. Foggy's a little worried he's going to do something rash sooner or later, so he spends most of the day being optimistic, always encouraging Matt to look on the bright side. 

So when Matt doesn't show up at his apartment, Foggy knows something is wrong. Really wrong. Matt has shown up almost every night for the past few months, so there's no way he just forgot. And if he wasn't going to come over, he'd tell Foggy the night before or earlier in the day, but he'd let Foggy know. 

Something is wrong, very wrong, but Foggy’s not going to panic. No, he's going to head on down to Matt's apartment, check on him, and if he's not in his apartment… He'll start checking hospitals. But he's not going to panic right now, because there's probably a normal explanation for why Matt didn't show up.  And just because he can't think of any rational explanations doesn't mean that there isn't there. 

He nearly kicks down the door when he reaches the apartment, taking six tries to get his key in the lock since his hands are shaking so hard. 

“Matt!” he calls, throwing the door open and storming in. “Matty!”

Matt's in the apartment, but Foggy's not sure it's a good thing. His heart actually stops beating for a second when he sees Matt in the doorway of his bedroom. It's like something out of one of his nightmares, only a million times worse, because he couldn't have prepared for how utterly wrecked Matt looks. He staggers forward, shaky on his feet.

“Fog,” he chokes out and goes tumbling to the ground. Foggy rushes forward but he's too far away to reach Matt in time. He drops to his knees next to Matt, hands hovering over Matt's chest. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he hisses, struggling to breathe. “Oh God, don't do this to me.” 

Matt gasps, hand reaching up to grab Foggy's wrist. “Fog… don’ go,” he chokes, face scrunching up. 

“Hey, hey, I'm right here. Not going anywhere,” he says, running his hand along Matt’s shoulder. “Just stay with me okay.” Matt nods, seeming relaxed as he sinks back to the floor and passes out. “Fuck.”

Dating Matt as the Mask gave him some experience patching up wounds, but nothing this bad. Foggy allows himself a moment to panic and hyperventilate before he gets to work. 

There's a first aid kit underneath the sink and Matt's burner phone in one of his pockets. He calls Claire, who surprisingly is just as familiar with him as he is with her, and she talks him through stitching up Matt's cuts and checking for internal injuries. She’s a soothing voice in his ears, keeping him calm while he tends to the worst of Matt's injuries. And when he's taken care of every treatable injury, she promises to get lunch sometime next week before hanging up. 

He sits down across from Matt, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes for just a second to calm down. Claire instructed him to keep an eye on Matt just in case his condition got worse, and although he was bone deep exhausted, he downs three cups of coffee and waits. 

Matt looks peaceful for the first time in weeks and Foggy envies him. This is it. This is the big confrontation Foggy's been trying desperately to avoid, the conversation he doesn't want to have because he doesn't know how shattered he’ll be on the other side of it. But there's no way to avoid it now.

And Foggy can only wait and plan what he's going to say and try not to panic over what Matt will say, what his great explanation will be. 

Matt wakes up like a switch being flipped, nearly giving Foggy a heart attack. One second, he's calm and asleep and then his eyes snap open with a gasp and he's scrambling up. It takes him a second to recognize Foggy's presence on the couch. 

“‘Morning sunshine,” Foggy says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I'm gonna suggest that you don't move because a) you lost a lot of blood last night, and b) I spent an hour and a half putting those stitches in and I'll be very pissed if I have to redo them.”

Matt swallows and nods weakly. Foggy hands him a glass of water from the floor next to the seat. Matt's eyes are wide, mouth tight, shoulders tense like he's just barely holding himself together. 

“You know,” Matt says, voice coarse and tiny. 

Alright he wants to jump right into it. Foggy takes in a breath and lets it out on a long sigh. 

“Yes,” he says simply, sits up a little.

“And you're… Angry?” Matt asks, shifting back on the couch. 

“That depends,” Foggy starts, and Matt curls in on himself. “Am I angry that you’ve been lying to me for the past few months and to a lesser extent for our entire friendship? Absolutely.” Matt flinches. “But I'm reserving my full reaction for when I have answers. So I'm going to be asking you some questions and I want you to respond with complete honesty or I will become and stay very angry. Okay?”

Matt nods, lips quivering like he's close to tears. Foggy wants to reach out and console him, but he needs to get through this first. 

“How?” he asks. “How do you do it? You are blind, and even if you're not, you can't see out of the mask.”

“I am blind,” Matt echoes. “Sort of.”

“Please elaborate,” Foggy says, rubbing at his temples. This is supposed to be the easy part. 

“Well, I can sense outlines of things. I can make out where things are roughly, but I can't tell you what they look like. I can hear really well and smell really well and I've practiced analyzing, you know, external data into conclusions about people.”

“Like what?”

“You smell like blood, but faintly. Not yours, mine, and you scrubbed it off in the kitchen sink around three hours ago. There's coffee too, you drank half a pot to keep you up. Your heart is beating quickly, has been since I woke up, because you're talking calmly but you're anxious, and now it's just getting worse because I'm freaking you out,” Matt rattles off, then bites on his lower lip and winces. 

“What the fuck?” Foggy asks, because he certainly wasn't expecting that. Matt recoils with the most guilt ridden look on his face. Wounded duck to the tenth power. 

“I… I'm sorry,” he says, breath hitching. “It's not like I can turn it off though. And I mean, I have to pay attention to… make sense of it all. Sometimes it comes in handy, like, I can usually tell when someone's lying. I can hear conversations from a few rooms over, if I really focus.”

“Okay, I can't even begin to explain how much of an invasion of privacy that is,” Foggy sighs.

“I-I know,” Matt says, blinking rapidly against the wetness in his eyes. 

“And it's been like this since your accident?” Foggy confirms. Matt nods. “So our entire friendship, you've been able to tell when I'm lying and everything else?”

“Yes,” Matt confesses. “I would try not to, but… I'm sorry.”

Foggy huffs out a breath, running his hands over his face. Okay, total invasion of privacy, plus Matt knows every time he's ever lied, probably all of his secrets too. 

“Alright… Alright, sure. It's not like I can't tell when you lie, so… fair enough.”

“You can tell when I lie?” Matt asks, sounding skeptical. 

“Matty, your face is an open book. I've known you for how long now. I can tell when you're lying,” Foggy insists. 

“So you knew… about all this before last night?” he confirms. 

“Um, yes. I'm not an idiot, Matt.”

“No, I know. I never thought you were, I just… Was it after the bombs? That night…”

“Come on, Matt. I've known since the warehouse. Just because I missed summa cum laude by two points-”

“Since the warehouse?” Matt echoes, voice breaking. “Y-you knew?”

“Matt, I have literally fantasized about kissing you since college. You think I wouldn't recognize you.”

“W-What?” Matt stammers, struggling to sit up. Foggy moves over to the couch to push him back down gently. “If you knew, why didn't you say anything?”

“Well, because I didn't know your reasoning,” he says, letting Matt catch his hand between his own. “Why did you keep lying? I’d get it if you wanted to keep me out of everything, so I wouldn't get hurt or so I wouldn't… I don't know turn you in or get in trouble if you got caught. But then I started dating you as the Devil, and none of those reasons made sense anymore. Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to,” Matt says, gripping his hand. 

“No, you weren't. Don't lie to me anymore, Matty.” 

Matt chokes on a little sob, hanging his head. “I just… I didn't want to lose you,” he says. “Freshman year of college, you were at the very least attracted to me. Your heart always beat fast around me and I was scared because you were my first real friend and I didn't want it to get all screwed up. And by the time I realized I felt the same way, you had already stopped feeling that way. So I just dealt with it, I was lucky enough that you were my friend. But when I saved you in the alley, your heart sped up again, and I shouldn't have done anything, but I thought I'd never get another chance to. After the warehouse, I wanted to tell you the truth, but I was so afraid that you'd get mad or that I'd have to hear you stop feeling that way about me all over again. And either way you would leave, and I can't live without you anymore, Foggy.”

“God, Matt,” Foggy breaths, brushing a stray tear off Matt's cheek. Of course it was something stupid and self deprecating, not Matt not wanting to date him. “I always loved you, idiot. I may have stopped having a heart attack every time you walked into a room, but I did fall in love with you, which meant less awkward boners and more pining for domesticity.”

The look on Matt's face is so fucking hopeful that Foggy just has to hug him. 

“Really?” he asks, eyebrows raised, hands gripping at Foggy's shoulders. “You mean that? You love  _ me _ ?”

Foggy rolls his eyes. “Of course,” he says, dragging his hand up to cup Matt's cheek. He nudges his nose against Matt's, kissing him chastely once, twice, before pulling away. “I love you. All of you. When you're my best friend, when you're my business partner, where you're the goddamn Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I don't understand you sometimes, and I still have a bunch of questions about your… hobby, to put it lightly. But that doesn't change how I feel about you.”

Matt kisses him again, cheeks wet with what Foggy assumes are happy tears. He kisses frantic and desperate, the corners of his mouth turned up, his small grin pressing against Foggy's. 

“How about you?” Foggy asks, without any of the fear and anxiety from earlier. “Matt Murdock, not any alter ego.”

Matt nods so hard he probably gives himself a concussion. “Do you even need to ask? Wait… Was that why you didn't…?”

“Matt, you literally put on a mask to date me, excuse me for thinking it meant  _ you _ didn’t want this to be serious.”

“Foggy, no,” he protests, all traces of smile wiped away. “That's not why-”

“Matty, I know. We just went over this,” Foggy says, poking at his cheek. “And it's all behind us now, okay?”

“I'm sorry,” Matt says, tightening his hands on Foggy's shoulders. “I'm so sorry. For everything.”

Foggy nods. “It's okay. Just no more secrets, okay?”

“No more secrets,” Matt agrees. “Absolutely none; you're going to be uncomfortable with how honest I am.”

Foggy can't help but laugh. “Oh God, I've created a monster, haven't I?”

Matt nods, grinning once again, and Foggy just has to kiss him again and then again and then again, until he has to pull away before Matt pulls a stitch. 

God, Matt can overshare absolutely anything and Foggy won't complain. He'll take every little thing Matt's willing to offer, no matter how uncomfortable. 

 

The next time Daredevil crashes into his apartment, Foggy has a pizza, antiseptics, and  _ My Cousin Vinny _ rented for the next forty eight hour. 

There's a tear in the suit, right along the shoulder, and Foggy rolls his eyes. He grabs his growing first aid kit from under the window and settles next to Matt on the carpet in front of his TV. 

The first thing he does is pull of that ridiculous mask with its dorky horns. Matt's face is miraculously uninjured for once, so no strange excuse for Karen tomorrow in the office. 

“Hey, babe, right on time,” he jokes. Matt raises his eyebrows, very unimpressed. “Look, if I have to play Mary Jane, you have to put up with my shitty jokes.”

“I am not Spider-Man,” Matt protests, pouting at Foggy like a petulant child. “I'm much cooler.”

“Yes, fake red horns scream cool,” Foggy mutters. “Take off your shirt.”

“Yes, dear,” Matt says, moaning only minutely as he unzips and shucks off the top half of his suit. Foggy would punch him, but his shoulder is injured. “I smell pizza. No plastic DVD case though…  _ Anatomy of a Murder _ ? It's on Netflix.”

“Not even close,” Foggy says, placing a hand on Matt's chest as he starts to clean out the cut in his shoulder. “Guess again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway if you liked this, please let me know. As always constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. You can send me prompts on [tumblr](https://applejuiz.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] your mask may as well be cellophane if you're trying to hide from me by AppleJuiz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480437) by [wingedwords (gunpowderandlove)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowderandlove/pseuds/wingedwords)




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